


Lōʻihi ka manawa (To take a long time)

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Car Accidents, Gen, Graphic Description of Injuries, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Suicide, Rehabilitation, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: It’s just a flash.A hint of movement, quick, just out of the corner of Steve’s eye on the side of the road.His brain registers it and something sparks, shouts “BRAKE!”He reacts. Instinct.





	Lōʻihi ka manawa (To take a long time)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this thing metions suicide. An unnamed, filler character commits suicide. If this will upset you, don't read.
> 
> I know I have a coda fic unfinished and believe me, I'm working on it. It's almost done. Writer's block sucks.

* * *

 

It’s just a flash.

A hint of movement, quick, just out of the corner of Steve’s eye on the side of the road.

His brain registers it and something sparks, shouts “BRAKE!”

He reacts. Instinct.

His foot slams on the brake pedal and he jerks the wheel to the left out of pure reflex. The blur of motion he glimpsed solidifies, surges in front of the truck as it swerves but as his muscles tighten and contract, his mind already knows he wasn’t fast enough to avoid hitting it.

A deep, screaming horn has him looking up past the flash of color and-

“Oh fu-”

Too much happens all at once and it’s all jumbled and broken: a fleshy thump, screaming tires,  a shearing screech of rent metal, noise, noise, so much noise. 

A brutal, jarring impact.

Explosions of pain, needle-like and sharp, deep and wrenching.

Violent twists of motion and ear-splitting squeals.

Reality fractures and shatters into fragments, like shards of glass.

He blinks and everything is still, quiet, muted and fuzzy, like reality keeps cutting out.

The world is… out of focus.

He blinks again but he can’t make sense of what he’s seeing.

Her eyes are wide open, locked on his, her hand next to his on the steering wheel.

The lower side of her face, her cheek and jaw, are torn to shreds, dripping blood.

_Zombie_

It all comes to him in a millisecond. He sucks in a breath and a shout of surprise, shock and maybe fear escapes him. He blinks and… He’s not…. This isn’t the theater. This isn’t that zombie movie thing he saw with Danny…. When was it? Yesterday? But… somehow… somehow the zombie woman from yesterday’s there, trying to touch him, staring at him with dead eyes and it doesn’t make sense.

Voices and screams and noise jolt him out of his fugue but the zombie’s still there, only zombies aren’t supposed to be real. She is, though.

A man he doesn’t know is talking to him but he can’t make sense of what he’s saying. Still, he warns the man about the zombie, just in case.

There’s a mighty shriek of torn metal and it goes dark, but the damned undead woman is _still there._ He can hear the plat-plat-plat of her blood dripping onto his knee, pouring down his leg and pooling at his feet. He tries to move, get out of the way, in case the movie’s right and it’s a virus in the blood…

He screams, the pain in his right leg unimaginable, unbearable. Oh God, how it can hurt this bad, he has no clue but his leg is a throbbing, pulsing mass of agony, bad enough to make him wonder if it’s still there or if it’s been sheared right off.

The zombie-woman. It’s her. Somehow, she got to him, bit his leg off.

He needs to escape.

The darkness lifts and something pulls on his arm and he howls, his shoulder on fire, the pain almost matching his leg in its intensity. He feels the flesh in the joint stretch and tear, the bones grinding as it rips out of its socket. The world shifts and the pain in his leg and shoulder explodes and multiplies until there’s nothing else he can feel. His stomach turns on the surge of agony and vomit shoots up his throat unheeded. He feels the hot, fetid wetness soak his shirt and lap, the stench overpowering any shred of control he has left. He adds to the mess and he’s little humiliated when the pain recedes, when he realises there’s vomit all the way down his front, pooling in between his legs and seeping into his underwear. There are even spatters of vomit on the zombie’s face and hair.

He puked on the zombie.

He bursts out laughing, his head implodes and the world disintegrates.

 

* * *

 

Pain drags him from the depths of darkness. There’s someone talking to him, trying to get his attention.

He groans and opens his eyes to a white, juddering ceiling with a strange fuzzy dome light on it.

A thought pops into his head: ambulance.

He doesn’t know why it makes sense but it does.

That makes the man next to him an.. an EMT.

“Sir? Can you hear me? You with me? What’s your name?”

“M… mm… M’Garrett… S.. S…Steve.”

“Hey Steve, My name’s Cole.  Do you remember what happened?”

He’s not sure. “I d… no.”

“You were in an accident. You got banged up pretty good but we’re gonna take care of you, okay?”

“Okay… Ahrghh!” he can’t help but scream when they hit a bump in the road, sharp, biting agony searing through back, his right leg and shoulder. God it hurts. Everything hurts. He feels dizzy, like the whole world is spinning. He’s cold, nauseous and god the pain…

The jolts and the screams of the sirens and the lights… Everything slams into him like dozens of razor sharp needles “Stop…” he begs, through cries of agony. “S.. stop. Pl… please. Ssstop.”

He’s stuck, trapped in some sort of hard… cocoon; can’t move his head, his arms, his legs…

“I know it hurts buddy but I can’t give you anything for the pain just yet. You hit your head pretty hard and it’s not safe to give you pain meds just yet. Don’t try to move.”

“Lemme… go…” he pleads. It hurts… so much…

“Sorry buddy, we have to take you to the hospital ‘cause you were in an accident, remember?”

No. No… it isn’t right. Why is he tied up? Why can’t he move? “Lemme go…” he says, struggling against the tight straps. He’s trapped. He has to… get away.

“Hey, hey, relax, Steve. Relax, okay? You gotta stay still. You had a bad accident and we had to put a c-collar on you and put you on a backboard because you could have hurt your spine, and you got a broken leg, okay? You can’t move just yet. You understand? It’s all right. You’re safe. Okay?”

“Hurts…” he mumbles, tears leaking from his eyes.

“I know, buddy, I know. Hang tight. We’re almos-“

Whiteness flares inside his skull, disintegrates into nothingness.

 

* * *

 

He hears something.

Muffled. Distant.

He knows it should… mean something. He should be…

He drifts and eventually realises there’s something blowing into his nose, dry and…

“Danny, hey. What the hell happened? Is he okay?”

He knows the voice. Tani. Pretty, wild, young, Tani. So much potential…

“Hey. He’s… Pretty banged up. He hasn’t really woken up from the anesthesia yet.  He’ll be all right though, give or take six months. As for what happened…”

Danny. It’s Danny. Loyal, fierce, reliable Danny. His partner.

“Holy… Is that…”

“A body, yeah. Traffic cam at the corner caught it. Woman stepped right in front of his truck. He swerved to avoid her, right into a semi’s path.  Guy tried to avoid the collision but… He clipped the front of Steve’s truck, it spun and slammed into the side of the big rig.”

“Wow.”

“The woman died on impact and her body went through his windshield. Steve was trapped for about forty-five minutes before they managed to cut him out of the wreck. He almost bled out.”

“Holy crap… What’s the damage?”

“Compound fracture of his right femur, shattered calcaneus and talus, those are bones in the heel and ankle, I’ve learned. Three hairline fractures in his thoracic vertebra, no displacement, so he got lucky; the bones didn’t shift and there’s no sign of damage to his spinal cord but he’ll be in a back brace for months. He also dislocated his right shoulder _again_ , he has pulmonary contusion and a severe concussion, plus the blood loss from the broken femur. The bone tore a hole in the femoral artery. Thankfully, it was a small tear or he’d have bled out inside a couple minutes.”

“Geez…”

He hears the words and he realises his eyes are closed. He tries to open them but the lids won’t budge. As minutes tick by, his body slowly begins to register and what he feels is pain, all over. It evokes a memory and suddenly his eyes fly open and he tries to sit up but he can’t move, his body held still by a rigid cocoon.

“Zombie!” he shouts, but the word ends in a whimper of pain.

“Easy, easy, babe. You’re in the hospital. Don’t try to move.”

“D… Da… Danny,” he huffs as his gaze finds the Danny-shaped blur besides his bed. His mouth isn’t working right, like he’s drunk…

“Yeah, babe I’m here. No zombies, sorry to disappoint.”

“Wha’ happnd?” He swallows, feeling like he might be sick.

“You were in an accident. Car crash.”

“I r’member… zombie… in… windshield.” God his head hurts. He’s so confused. Everything hurts and everything is spinning.

“Not a zombie. Woman committed suicide by stepping into the path of your truck.”

“’Wh.. What?” This conversation isn’t making sense to him. He’s confused, groggy. It hurts. He groans and maybe whimpers. The pain is almost overwhelming.

“It’s okay, babe. It’s the concussion. I’ll get the nurse, get you some pain meds.”

“Kay. Ngh… hurts…”

“I know. Just hang in there.”

Time goes disjointed again and for a while, he’s lost in a haze of pain, strange dreams and stranger memories. He thinks he maybe wakes up a few times but he’s not sure.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up, and this time he’s more awake, mostly aware.

He blinks a few times, recognizing the heaviness of narcotics in his blood, muting the pain he can feel all over his body but it doesn’t mean he’s not feeling the presence of it.

His right leg is in traction, elevated and held in place by a steel contraption and he can feel weights pulling on it but can feel the bone throbbing with each beat of his heart. Breathing hurts, both in his chest and shoulder. His chest is enveloped in a rigid cocoon that starts under his armpits and goes all the way down to his hips, making it impossible to move, even if he wanted to. He feels the weight of his right arm on his chest, feels the sling holding it in place, feels the tendons and muscles stretch painfully when he turns his head, feels a wrongness in his back when he does, too.

Danny’s sleeping in a chair by the bed. It’s dark out and from what he can tell from the shadows the moon is casting, it’s probably past midnight. He swallows, trying to rid himself of the gumminess in his mouth but his throat sticks and he coughs instead. He can’t contain the pained hiss at the sharp ache the act produces, nor the harsh pants as the pain flares deep in his lungs.

He hears Danny come awake with a start and feels a hand on his good shoulder just as he relaxes into his pillows.

“Hey. You feeling okay? You with it this time?”

He nods a fraction. “Water,” he croaks.

“Yeah,” Danny nods and pours some from the pitcher on the table, handing it to him.

His hand shakes a little when he takes it but he doesn’t spill anything as he brings the plastic cup to his mouth. He swallows a few small sips and gives the cup back, energy spent. He sinks into the plastic pillow and uncomfortable mattress, blinking up at Danny. The past… couple days (he thinks) are a jumbled mess in his head, pain and confusion being the only things he recalls with any certainty but throughout, there’s a persistent memory; the image of a dead woman through a broken windshield. He recalls thinking about zombies too. He mostly remembers excruciating pain in his leg; a pain that is now muted, dulled by the drugs he can still feel in his blood. He thinks it’s not the first time he thinks about this since he woke up a few minutes ago but narcotics have that effect on him, or maybe it’s something else? He’s not really sure. His brain feels sluggish and slow, and it hurts to think.

He swallows again and takes a careful deep breath, the inhale catching when his ribs and back protest the movement.

“That wasn’t a nightmare, was it,” he mumbles thickly. He kinda loves-hates the drugs right now. They keep what he knows has to be massive amounts of pain at bay but his brain feels full of marshmallow, his thoughts slow and muddled.

“No,” Danny exhales, pacing, hands on the back of his hips. “Horrible, Technicolor reality, I’m sorry to say, babe. So, how are you feeling?”

He thinks about it, takes stock. “Sore. Confused. I remember… A woman, through my truck windshield. I hit her?” He must have. How else would she have ended up there? Only… The rest of it is a black hole. Did it finally happen? Was Danny’s griping about him killing somebody with his reckless driving true?

“Not the way you’re thinking. She deliberately walked out into the road, right in front of your truck.”

That doesn’t make sense. “What?” He shifts slightly and his whole body throbs in pain. “Oww… What do you mean?” he grids out.

“Suicide. Only, she almost took you with her.”

“Damn.” He has no clue how he feels about the news. He swallows and breathes, the air feeling heavy, hard to move, like his chest weighs a ton. He doesn’t want to think about a woman using him to kill herself. Not now, not when it’s this hard to make his brain work. He locks that in a box and changes the subject.

“What’s the damage?” he asks. His voice is thin, brittle and it goes with the way he feels; like he’s made of sand, fragile and ready to crumble in the baking sun or to be washed away into nothingness by a wave.

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really. Bits and pieces.”

“Doc said that might happen because of the concussion.”

He listens as Danny lists his injuries, noticing one by one all the various pieces of equipment he’s hooked up to. It takes him about fifteen minutes to realize he’s in the ICU.

“I’m… in the ICU?”

“Yeah. Surgery was dicey for a bit: the blood loss, the bruised lung, cracked vertebra... You’re doing better though. You should be moved to a regular room by morning.”

“Hm.”

He’s tired. He can feel sleep pulling at him, like the undertow at the edge of his cove. He wants to fight it. He can’t. His eyes close and he can’t force them back open again.

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up again.”

He lets go, slips under the surface.

 

* * *

 

Six weeks.

That’s how long it takes for him to be released from the hospital, only to be transferred straight to a rehab center. Apparently, he needs to relearn to walk with his badly busted leg and a broken back and he needs to build back all of the muscles six weeks of complete inactivity has wasted away.

It’s _hard_. Harder than BUD/s ever was.

It hurts, more than he ever thought possible but he pushes on, never gives up. He has moments of discouragement. He breaks down a couple times, exhausted, overwhelmed by the pain and lack of progress.

Danny’s there to shore him up. Grover, Nahele, Kamekona, Tani, Junior… everyone. He draws new strength from them.

He gets angry, pissed off too. Frustrated.

But he _walks_ out of that rehab center, no wheelchair, no walker, no cane. Just his own two feet. He can’t do it for long without any support when he’s released, but he _can_.

It took four months to get to that point.

And ten months after the accident, he chases down a perp on foot, tackles him and overpowers him, just like before. He hands him over to Danny, breathing hard, and he turns away, walking off, chest heaving.

“Babe? Steve you okay?” Danny shouts after him, only he can’t answer, throat too tight.

He feels Danny’s hand on his arm, sees Danny in his peripheral vision and he nods.

“Babe, c’mere,” his partner says, and engulfs him into one of those bear hugs they do so well. “You did it. You’re back. One hundred per cent,” Danny says, giving him a good squeeze.

“Yeah,” he manages to huff out through the ridiculous, completely unstoppable tears. He did it. He came back from the brink, a second time. He came back from being literally physically and nearly mentally broken this time.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I did it.”

“You did.”

“I did it, Danny.”

“Yeah. I knew you would.”

He did it. For a while, he had doubts, he knows he did, remembers sleepless nights at the rehab center, remembers thinking he’d have to adapt to a future with a walker or a cane, having to give up Five-0, having to adapt to life with a permanent disability, remembers the chasm of despair hovering just at the edge of his mind. He remembers the constant pain, eating away at his energy, at his patience, at his mood. That’s not entirely gone, never will be, but…

But he did it.

He survived, he’s healed. He’s back to his old, slightly more scarred self.

He did it.

By the grace of God, family and his own strength, he made it through.

He gives Danny’s shoulder a final squeeze and pushes back, a watery smile on his face.

“Come on, time to book’em, Danno.”

Danny gives him a beaming smile.

“I’ve been waiting ages to hear you say that. Let’s go, Super SEAL, so I can do just that.”

He nods. "Okay. Let's go."

And just like that, the page is turned.

 

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> I felt the ending was a little rushed but I hope you liked it still. Please let me know how I did. Concrit is welcome, general bitching is not.


End file.
